Moments
by o-Vana-o0
Summary: A collection of short stories about a young human noble named Keladry Cousland who became a Grey Warden and, later, Queen and Warden-Commander of Ferelden. New: Alistair and Keladry have a moment together before marching on Denerim for the last time.
1. Chapter 1

**On the Road to Ostagar**

Duncan sat beside the campfire, his legs crossed in a comfortable tailor's seat, stitching a patch onto his shirt. The act of sewing, though he wasn't particularly good at it, soothed him. And at the moment, he needed a good deal of soothing. That had been a bad business back at Highever, one that required careful thought. Arl Howe had behaved unusually for a Ferelden noble; assassination was more an Antivan or Orlesian thing to do. He glanced up across the campfire and sighed. But political implications took second place at the moment. Of primary importance was the young lady sitting across the fire from him.

Keladry Cousland, Bryce Cousland's youngest daughter and Duncan's newest recruit, sat with her back leaning against a boulder, staring into the fire. Jump, her Mabari warhound, lay on the ground beside her, his head resting against her knee. The "bad business" in Highever had killed her parents, her friends, her sister-in-law, her nephew, dozens of servants and guardsmen. The fact that Keladry had managed to fight her way free of that mess spoke volumes for her skills and her determination. Duncan hoped he was right about her determination; since leaving Highever very early that morning, she had not spoken a single word. She seemed trapped in her mind, running through her thoughts again and again.

Instinctively, he left her alone for the moment. She needed to process the events of the day, needed to find her feet again. Above and beyond the shock and pain of losing her family and friends, Duncan was reasonably sure this was her first real combat experience. Practice had not prepared her for killing someone else, evidently; he'd heard her go into the bushes to be violently ill a couple times during the day's travel.

She looked relatively calm now, almost twenty-four hours after the attack and subsequent flight. But Duncan didn't miss the signs of shock and mental trauma. She wasn't eating, for a start; she'd picked at the dinner he'd made, eaten a couple bites, then grimaced and put the bowl aside. She hadn't touched it since. Occasionally, a tear trickled down her face, to be brushed away almost absently.

Her lack of tears worried him a lot. He'd prepared himself for the situation, as best as he could. This was hardly the first time he'd gotten a recruit after said recruit lost everything else; he was used to tears, and anger, and angered rants of pain and despair. But she was just…still. No tears, except for those that escaped when she wasn't paying attention. No ranting, or any words at all. That scared Duncan a little, though he didn't want to admit it. Bottling grief up never made the situation better; it just made the inevitable breakdown that much worse when it came.

He glanced at the moon's position and shook his head as he folded his shirt and put it away. He had taken advantage of the small stream by their campsite earlier, but young Keladry hadn't yet. Her hands and arms were still smeared with blood, and even if she didn't realize it now, she would want to be clean whenever she broke from this trance state. "Keladry," he called softly.

She didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't respond in any way. Had she even heard him? Or was she so lost in her memories that his voice didn't get through to her?

Duncan rose and went to sit beside her. "Keladry," he repeated a little louder. She blinked this time, but didn't respond.

"Keladry Cousland!" he called.

This time, he got the reaction he was hoping for. She jumped and her hand darted to her sword before she realized who was calling her. She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaled, then looked at Duncan with a slightly raised eyebrow.

That seemed to be all the response she was going to give him, so he accepted it as the question it probably was. "There is a stream a little way from here," he said, his voice slow and gentle. "I would suggest getting clean before you go to sleep."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked down at her hands. Dried blood had collected under her nails, and in the cracks of her skin. She shuddered and nodded as she stood up. "Thank you," she whispered.

Duncan smiled a little. At least he'd gotten her to say something. That was a start. He watched her as she retrieved her pack from the tent and headed toward the stream, Jump at her heels. Well, he couldn't deny that she was a tough little thing. Even with the throwing up, and the silence, she hadn't been a burden for him yet. She'd taken half of the salvaged supplies in her pack and carried them uncomplainingly, and kept up with him even with the faster pace he demanded. She even helped put up the single tent and set up her bedroll without a complaint, even though most gently reared young ladies would protest sleeping in the same tent as a man. Of course, most gently reared young ladies didn't have the inner grit required to be a Grey Warden, and Duncan thought Keladry did. She was her father's daughter.

She was gone quite a while, making him worry a little. Though he didn't sense any darkspawn close by, there were other dangers in the wild lands. Yes, she'd taken her sword and her warhound with her, earning her points in his book, but still…until she was a full Grey Warden, she was his charge, placed in his care by her father.

At last, she returned. She looked much cleaner than she had before, her wet hair hanging around her face and a wet bundle held out in front of her gingerly. He understood then why she had taken so long; she had taken the time to wash her blood-smeared clothes and she'd taken a wet cloth to her bloody armor. And now she was wearing a tunic that was entirely too big for her, and trousers that were a little small. At least she was covered, Duncan reflected. She could have returned in her small clothes, after all. She glanced at him briefly, then went to a nearby tree and began hanging her clothes up to dry. As she worked, she stifled yawns.

"You should get some rest, Keladry," Duncan suggested quietly. "We will be traveling hard tomorrow."

She didn't look at him. "I'm not tired," she said. She sat down by the fire and began wiping her armor dry with care, something he noted with approval.

She wasn't a very good liar. He could tell she was exhausted, almost asleep on her feet, but he had a feeling she would manage to stay awake through the night if he didn't help her a little. Duncan had a suspicion he knew why she was staying awake; bad memories made for nightmares. Who would know better than a Grey Warden who had spent over half his life fighting the darkness without and within?

Duncan sighed and retrieved his pack. These days, with the Blight rising in the south, he always carried certain items to help him sleep. His normal dreams were bad enough without the help from the Archdemon's call. After a moment's search, he found one such item and mixed it carefully into a flask of sweet tea. He glanced up every so often to make sure Keladry didn't see what he was doing. Deception didn't work so well when the target was watching. Fortunately for him, she was so focused on staying awake and getting her armor in shape that she hardly seemed aware he was still sitting there.

"Have something to drink, at least," Duncan said, offering her the flask.

She jerked a little, startled, but relaxed a little as she reached out to take the flask. "What is it?" she asked.

"Sweet tea," he replied. "It helps refresh me when I'm on the road."

She nodded and took a deep drink. "Mm," she murmured. "Rather good, actually."

"I do prefer to drink things that taste good," Duncan smiled. "Since healing potions taste quite nasty, overall."

"Too true," Keladry sighed. She sniffed the flask and drank deeply again before setting it aside and going back to work on her armor.

Duncan took the flask back and closed it tightly, watching his young recruit with eagle eyes. The sleeping aid didn't take long to work; within a minute, he saw her eyes flutter and she leaned against the boulder for support. "I feel…odd," she murmured. "Think I'll…lie down for a moment…" And, to Duncan's private amusement, she did just that right by the fire. Moments later, she was fast asleep, snoring softly.

Jump looked at her, his head tipped inquisitively to the side, then looked at Duncan. "It's all right, boy," Duncan said reassuringly. "She wouldn't sleep otherwise; surely you know exactly how stubborn she is."

That seemed to be the right thing to say; Jump grinned a doggy grin and sat back on his haunches, watching Duncan as the Grey Warden picked up his new recruit and carried her into the tent. He took her boots off and tucked her into her bedroll before going back outside and banking the small fire for the night.

The next morning, Duncan knew Keladry was angry with him; not because she ranted and raved at him, but because she was coldly, politely silent. He didn't press her to talk, knowing she would talk to him when she was ready and not a moment before. And, as a nice little silver lining to the whole thing, she seemed less focused on her grief. Maybe because grief and anger had difficulty co-existing when the targets were vastly different people.

When they stopped for the night, Keladry crossed her arms over her chest and looked coolly at Duncan. "Why did you drug me?" she asked, her voice level and calm.

"You needed sleep," Duncan replied in exactly the same tone, glancing up from the tent. "You would not have slept as deeply or as soon if I had not drugged you."

She tipped her head to the side, a gesture that reminded him of Jump's quizzical stance, and considered that a moment. At last, she nodded slowly, to his surprise, and said, "I'll accept that."

"Oh?" Duncan asked. "And here I was sure you would be angry for days to come."

Keladry's eyebrow went up a little. "I was trained to be practical." She sighed and turned back to helping him put up the tent. "And I've had all day to think about it. I suspected that was your reasoning." She glanced at him again. "I'd rather you didn't do that again, though. If we're attacked, having one of us down in a drugged stupor could be a really bad idea."

Duncan smiled reluctantly at that. "Will you sleep tonight, of your own free will?"

"I will at least make the attempt," Keladry said. "I…" She looked at the ground. "I don't know that I'll be able to sleep, but I'll try."

Duncan nodded, satisfied with that.

They finished setting up camp and cooked dinner in companionable silence. Her appetite was better, he was glad to note; she ate all her portion quickly and volunteered to clean the dishes. She even played with Jump a little, the two of them rolling like oversized puppies across the grass. Keladry wasn't all right, it was too soon for her to be all right, but Duncan was pretty sure she was starting on the path to recovery, and that did his heart good.

At last, she stretched a little and said, "I'm going to bed."

"I will be in shortly," Duncan promised.

She nodded a little, apparently unsurprised. "Sleep well," she said before disappearing into the tent. Jump looked at the elder Warden and lay down in front of the tent, obviously standing guard over his short mistress.

Duncan took his time banking the fire and tidying the campsite as best he could in the moonlight, letting her have time to get properly settled in her bedroll without feeling uncomfortable or awkward about disrobing in a man's presence. At last, he yawned widely and headed for the tent, tapping lightly on the center support beam as he entered. There was no response, and he had to smile at the picture in front of him.

Keladry was tucked into her bedroll, curled on her side with her arms pulled close to her chest. As hard as it was for him to believe, she was already deeply asleep, as evidenced by her steady breathing and her slightly fluttering eyelashes. Though to be fair, she had probably never traveled quite so far before the last couple days, and this was her first night sleeping without drugs.

Moving carefully, Duncan changed into his sleeping clothes and slipped into his bedroll. Though he was more accustomed to hard travel, he was exhausted as well; he was asleep very shortly after lying down.

Now that a Blight had begun, Duncan had to actually work at keeping darkspawn dreams at bay, let alone any dreams about the Archdemon. He had a bad feeling about the dreams he was getting; they told him his time was limited. Soon he would have to follow the Calling or follow his old commander into ghoulishness. But by and large, he was pretty good at not dreaming. So when the screaming broke his sleep, he didn't waste any time thinking it was a dream.

Duncan sprang awake and grabbed his sword as he rolled out of his bedding and rose into a low crouch. His first thought was that they were being attacked by Shrieks, the darkspawn assassins that came out of nowhere. But his darkspawn sense wasn't tingling, and the screams sounded too…human.

He blinked once, twice, and realized the screaming was coming from _inside_ the tent. He looked down and realized the source.

Keladry was flailing on the ground, her eyes closed and her mouth wide open as she shrieked incoherently. She'd fought free of her bedding, so Duncan could see she slept in the overlarge shirt she'd worn the other day and her small clothes. But there was no time to worry about modesty; he needed to wake her before she attracted any enemies within five miles.

Tossing his sword onto his bedroll, Duncan knelt next to Keladry and watched her for a second. She was struggling against something in her dreams, her hands moving in fighting gestures. He could imagine a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other rather easily. Quite likely, she was reliving the events of the fight in Highever, which was hardly surprising, given the circumstances. Duncan sighed and moved her weaponry well away from her reach, then gripped her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. "Keladry!" he snapped.

She went still, her head turned in his direction, but her eyes didn't open. "Well, are you going to help us or not?" she demanded, still caught in the throes of her dream.

"Keladry, wake up," Duncan said, his voice a little softer now that he'd caught her attention.

Keladry struggled against his grip, her slender body almost slipping loose. "No, no, let me go!" she cried. "Mother…Father! Damn you, Duncan, _let me go!_"

"Keladry Cousland, wake up!" Duncan snapped, shaking her a little.

Her eyes, an interesting mix of brown, green and gold he'd heard called hazel, snapped open and she stared up at him. "No, no…" she whispered, but stopped struggling. Her eyes traced his face, seeking confirmation of some suspicion, and her body relaxed a little. "Oh," she said flatly, turning her head away from Duncan.

Duncan released her shoulders and sat back on his heels. "Take a few deep breaths," he advised. "That always helps me when I have nightmares."

That comment drew Keladry's eyes back to him. "You have nightmares?" she asked, her voice soft, almost vulnerable.

"Oh yes," Duncan said. "I've seen a lot in my time as a Grey Warden, and will see more. I've learned how to deal with my nightmares, but I've had a lot of time to figure out the best way. You will learn."

Keladry flung an arm over her eyes and shuddered. "I don't want to learn," she said, her voice a little muffled. "I wish…" She sighed. "But that does as much good as spitting into the wind."

Duncan smiled, because she was right. Wishing to undo what had been done was a waste of time, and she was wise to have learned that so early.

Keladry rolled onto her side, pulling her blankets back around her. At first he thought she just wanted to go back to sleep; a silly thought, really, given what had just happened. He realized moments later that she was crying, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Duncan reached out a hand, then stopped himself, unsure how she would take the meager comfort he could give. He sighed quietly and rested his hand on her shoulder gently.

She jerked a little, but didn't pull away. That was a reasonable start. He felt her vibrating under his hand with the force of her silent sobs, and wished he could think of something to say. At last, she sighed, and her body relaxed into sleep. "Peaceful dreams, Keladry," Duncan murmured, slipping back into his bedroll. "May the Maker give you peace."

The next morning, he woke to find Keladry sitting by the banked fire, her knees pulled up to her chest. He had an idea she hadn't slept much, a thought that was supported by her pale face and red eyes. He suspected she had spent the night crying beside the fire so as not to wake him. After getting a good look at her face, he decided not to ask. She would talk to him in due course, if she trusted him enough.

Keladry didn't say a word about the incident the night before; she appeared to want to act as normal as possible. She helped with the morning meal, tore down camp, and followed Duncan onto the main road.

They traveled mostly in silence throughout the first part of the day. Duncan silently cursed his inability to find the right words to draw her out—on the rare occasions he got her to say something, she used small, curt words, indicating she really didn't want to talk.

When they stopped for a midday meal, he had an idea. He didn't know how good an idea it was, but it was the only one he'd had so far. He rummaged through his pack and found his empty journal, the one he had bought in Denerim to replace the journal he had almost filled. "Here," he said, tossing it into Keladry's lap.

She picked it up and examined it. "Thank you," she said automatically. "But… what is it for?"

"Grey Wardens are required to record anything they encounter that might be of interest to future Grey Wardens. I daresay a well-written eyewitness account of the Fifth Blight would be interesting to everyone." And, Duncan added silently, the act of writing things down helped clear the mind.

Keladry looked at him, her clear hazel eyes searching his face. Then she nodded slowly. "But this is for me, to be my personal journal?" she asked.

"Yes. Write down anything you want." Duncan paused, unsure how much to tell her. He decided a portion of the truth would do for now: "I think, in time, you will have a leadership role in the Grey Wardens. People always like to know why the leaders make the decisions they do; your personal journal will help."

A very tiny smile curled the corners of Keladry's mouth upward as she nodded again. "I know," she said. "I used to read my ancestors' journals at…at home."

That smile was the first he'd seen from her since leaving Highever. Its presence told him he'd made the right choice of action. And, he noticed, she hadn't argued with his assessment that she would have a leadership role. That didn't surprise him overmuch; she had been born to lead and trained in the necessary skills by her Weapons Master and her father.

Keladry tapped an idle rhythm on the cover of the journal. There was a new light in her eyes, and her shoulders set with a sense of purpose. "Have you pen and ink I can use?" she asked. "I…did not bring any with me."

"Of course," Duncan replied. He found both pen and ink in a small pocket of his pack and handed them to her. She checked the pen's tip, nodded, and opened the ink bottle.

She spent the next ten minutes writing. Duncan could see that she wrote with a quick, neat hand. He had expected no less from a noble's child, who must have been writing since she was big enough to hold a pen. That would make a nice change from the usual common-born who wrote only when forced to. Alistair was the only other Grey Warden currently in Ferelden who wrote for fun, and wrote well.

Alistair. The former Templar might be the best friend Keladry could have in the Grey Wardens. They were close in age, he understood the pain of being suddenly alone, and he had a way of accidentally saying the right thing at the right time. It would be no bad thing to direct her toward Alistair when they reached Ostagar.

Over the next few days, Duncan watched Keladry allow herself to grieve. She spent every rest period writing in her journal, sometimes writing until she was squinting in the chancy light of the fire. She woke him several times with her quiet sobs in the middle of the night, but when he rolled over and rested a hand on her shoulder, she was able to accept the comfort and drift off to sleep again. And more than once, she dropped a little behind during the day's travel to have a private cry. Her eyes were constantly red, but she slept through most of the night and her appetite was good. And as they traveled, she talked to him, telling him about her family and funny stories from her past. In exchange, he told her about his adventures as a Grey Warden, carefully leaving out some parts she couldn't know yet. It pained him to hide anything from her, as she drank up knowledge with a delightful relish, but there were things she couldn't know until she went through the Joining.

"We will be at Ostagar tomorrow," Duncan told her one evening as they finished their dinner. "Once there, you will become a Grey Warden."

Keladry nodded, setting her empty plate down. She looked at her hands for a moment, then up at Duncan. "I guess this will be our last chance to talk in any sort of privacy for a while, then."

"Quite likely," Duncan agreed. "Two other recruits wait for us at Ostagar, along with the other Grey Wardens."

"Not to mention the entire army and the King," Keladry said. She bit her lower lip, something she tended to do while thinking. "Then this is my last chance to give you the thanks I owe, twice over."

"Keladry…" Duncan started, but stopped when she raised a hand slightly and shook her head. There was something almost imperious in that gesture, something he responded to automatically.

"Let me finish," she said. "You saved my life back in Highever. If you hadn't recruited me and dragged me away, I would have died beside my parents." She half-smiled wryly. "I'll admit, I was rather angry with you for making me live when my parents died, at least for a while. But then you saved my sanity by giving me this journal." She looked down at the journal in her lap. "I don't think I could have grieved as I needed to without something to pour all my feelings into. So…I can't ever begin to give you enough thanks for all you've done for me. But…thank you." She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

"I am glad," Duncan said quietly, returning the squeeze before releasing her hand. "Losing your fire and strength would have been a criminal loss."

"I'm glad to not be lost," Keladry said with a very brief smile. At least she was able to smile, however brief the smile was.

They settled into a comfortable silence for a while. Keladry threw a stick for Jump while finishing a journal entry for the day. Duncan wondered what she was writing and resolved to ask before following his Calling.

"I think I will turn in," Keladry said, punctuating a last sentence and setting the journal aside to dry. "Sounds like tomorrow will be a long day. You should get some rest too, ser."

Ser. Duncan knew Keladry well enough by now to know she didn't use titles of respect lightly. If she called someone "ser", she felt that person had earned the respect implicit in that title, and Duncan felt a moment's warmth at his recruit's show of honor. "I will," he promised, smiling at her.

Keladry nodded her head in an almost-bow and headed into the tent, her journal open in her hand. As ever, Duncan gave her a few moments to settle before going into the tent and taking to his bedroll. And for the first night since leaving Highever, she didn't wake him with sobs or screams. She still had a ways to go to be fully healed, but Duncan thought she was well on her way to recovery.

They reached Ostagar shortly before noon the next day, and they were met by the king, to Duncan's surprise. After a short conversation that seemed to lift Keladry's spirits a little, King Cailan left them to their own devices. Keladry's eyes shone as she looked at the ancient fortifications, which didn't surprise Duncan much; she'd mentioned several times that she loved history, and Ostagar was filled with stories. He told her to go and explore as she willed, within the camp, and find Alistair when she was ready to settle again. He smiled to himself as he watched her trot across the bridge, leaving Jump in his care. "I think she will be just fine," he said to Jump, who sat and watched his mistress on her way.

The warhound woofed cheerfully and got to his feet. Duncan chuckled and nodded. "All right, boy," he said. "Let's go wait for her and Alistair by a fire, where we can stay warm."

Together, warhound and Grey Warden crossed the bridge. Duncan felt a shadow cross his face and looked up at the Tower of Ishal. For just a second, a shiver of foresight and intuition touched his spine, a sense of death approaching. Then he shrugged it away. The Calling would be soon for him; he hoped it would come as he struck down the Archdemon. That would be the perfect way to go, in his opinion. Until then, there was work to do.


	2. Keladry's No Good Rotten Day

**Keladry's No-Good, Rotten Day**

Keladry woke herself coughing. She sat bolt upright, both hands clamped over her mouth and tears streaming down her face as she tried to get her coughing fit under control. At last, the worst of the coughing passed and she slumped to her side, breathing shallowly.

Of all the wretched times to get sick… She was pretty sure this cold had started back in the temple where the Urn of Sacred Ashes lived. If so, the cold had taken its sweet time developing, with only minimal aches and pains to herald the full-blown disease. She'd felt a light sore throat a few days ago, and had been coughing off and on the last couple of days, but thought it was nothing more than the dryness caused by rapidly changing climates, since Haven was much colder and dryer than Redcliffe, so she hadn't wanted to bother Wynne with her concerns. Keladry Cousland always had difficulty asking for help, even from people she knew and trusted, and Wynne was still a new companion, one who had joined only two weeks ago.

As the young Grey Warden caught her breath, she became aware of a tight, clenching pain in her abdomen, and she groaned, pulling her pillow over her face. It never rained, but it poured, as the saying went.

This was something that had come with becoming a Grey Warden, something neither Duncan nor Alistair had warned her about. Of course, it was possible they just didn't know, since neither of them was a woman…before going through the Joining, Keladry's monthly cycles had been an annoyance and messy, but never painful. Since the Joining, though, she'd started cramping badly before and during her cycle. The first time it happened, it scared her badly, but she thought she had a better grip on what was going on this time.

"At least there's a healer this time," she said aloud, her voice muffled by her pillow. She didn't like admitting she needed help, but she wouldn't be much good on the road to the Brecilian Forest if she didn't ask for pain relief; she'd learned that last month, when they had to camp for a full day while she dealt with the pain.

She looked at the canvas and sighed as she rolled to her knees and got up with an effort. She wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep, and it was almost dawn; she might as well do something mildly useful with her enforced wakefulness.

Leliana had the watch that night, and she looked up from her lute as Keladry came out of her tent, buckling her sword belt on as she went. "Was that you I heard coughing up a lung?" the Orlesian bard asked, teasing gently.

Keladry opened her mouth to answer and doubled over in another painful bout of coughing. She braced her hands on her knees and spat out a mouthful of phlegm with a grimace of distaste. "Yep," she said, her voice hoarse.

"You sound awful," Leliana observed, going to Keladry's side in concern. "You're going to get Wynne to have a look when she wakes, yes?" She helped the Grey Warden to a seat beside the fire before putting the battered tea kettle on to boil.

"Right," Keladry said, settling back against a convenient boulder. "Go get some rest; I can't sleep anyway, I'll take the rest of your watch."

"Are you sure you're all right to watch by yourself?" Leliana asked. She went to the communal tea pack and found a soothing mixture Keladry particularly liked.

Jump came out of the sparse forest then, a limp rabbit in his mouth. He looked from woman to woman and wuffed around his mouthful.

"I won't be by myself; Jump can wake the world if he wants to," Keladry said, smiling at her dog with an effort.

"All right; I could use a little more rest anyway," Leliana said, putting the tea mug beside Keladry. She squeezed her friend's shoulder before heading to her tent. Jump trotted to Keladry's side and dropped the rabbit on the ground beside her, wuffing again.

"All yours, boy," Keladry said, the smell of the blood turning her stomach painfully.

He dog-grinned at her and settled in for his meal as Keladry began adding wood to the fire.

There was something to be said for the peace of the pre-dawn camp, broken only by Jump's happy munching, the pop of the fire, and Keladry's occasional hacking coughs. The stars were bright, the moon hovered over the edge of the horizon, and for a moment, she was able to forget about the pain of the moment and the looming fear in the future.

The teapot whistled shrilly, and Keladry reached out to pull it off the fire, not wanting the sound to wake anyone else. Just as her fingers wrapped around the handle, another coughing fit started and her whole arm jerked, dumping hot water all over her hand. She whimpered in pain as she dropped the kettle, splashing the water over the fire and her leg. And still the coughing persisted as she curled into herself, cradling her burned hand against her chest.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her gently back against a solid chest. "Easy," Alistair's voice said in her ear, holding her close enough that she could feel the vibrations of his words through his chest into her back. "Take a breath."

"Trying!" Keladry snapped between coughs.

"I know," Alistair said, still holding her. As her coughs eased a little, she realized how close she'd come to falling into the fire, which Alistair had seen before she did. She winced as all the rest of her pain set in, and she closed her eyes against the tears she couldn't help. Usually she was good about not being a girl about pain, but today…well, today her emotions didn't want to be controlled.

"There you go," Alistair encouraged, patting her shoulder. Were he anyone else, she would deck him for touching her, but Alistair was a special case. They'd been fighting partners for two months, going through hell and back and watching each others' back all the way. She trusted him and thought of him as her best friend.

"Thanks," Keladry rasped, still coughing every once in a while. "Sorry I woke you."

"I was up anyway," Alistair said carelessly. "I was considering coming out to share the watch with you, and then you started coughing." He sat beside her and frowned a little. "What happened to your hand?"

Keladry realized she was still holding her hand against her chest and considered letting it go for all of two seconds before deciding her dignity was already shot to death. "Spilled boiling water on it," she replied.

"Ouch!" Alistair exclaimed. "Here, let me have a look…"

Keladry considered snapping at him again, then sighed and carefully pulled her hand away from her chest. It was curled into a loose fist, and burn blisters made a mottled patchwork pattern across her tanned skin.

"Maker's breath! When you go to hurt yourself, you don't go for half measures, do you?" Alistair asked, gently gripping her wrist and examining the burns.

"Apparently," Keladry said, relaxing a little. She hated asking for help, but when it was offered, it was nice to let someone else take charge for a moment.

"Wynne should be up soon," Alistair said, glancing at the horizon. "Let's get some cold water on that until then."

"Where, the stream?" Keladry asked.

"Good idea," Alistair agreed. He stood and helped Keladry up, using the grip he had on her wrist. Once on her feet, Keladry reclaimed her hand, tucking it against her chest again as they walked down to the stream. Alistair walked beside her, whistling an idle tune with his thumbs stuck in his belt. Keladry couldn't help but smile a little, even through her pain. Alistair had casual nonchalance down to a science, but he couldn't hide his concern, not from her. She was very good at reading facial expressions and body language, and she couldn't help but be touched by his concern.

She knelt beside the stream, and he knelt beside her. "Easy does it," he encouraged as she peeled her hand away from her chest and bent to stick it in the water.

The moment her curled fingers touched the cold water, her whole body jerked in pain, almost dropping her into the stream. Only Alistair's hands on her shoulders saved her from a nasty fall. She clutched her hand to her chest again, tears of pain streaming down her face.

"Easy, 'Drea, easy," Alistair murmured, holding her in a loose hug around the shoulders.

She opened her eyes. "What?" she asked, surprised. "What did you call me?" She'd never heard that nickname before; actually, she didn't hear many nicknames besides "Warden" these days. Back home, her father had called her "Pup", and her brother called her "Kel", which always earned him a punch in the arm. She thought she might like this "Drea" nickname.

Alistair looked embarrassed. "Sorry, didn't mean to say that," he said. "I just… call you that in my head sometimes. It slipped, sorry."

"Don't be," Keladry said, shaking her head a little. The pain had receded to a manageable level, and she silently thanked the Maker for that. "It's fine."

"It is?" Alistair asked, and the uncertainty in his voice made her smile, just a little. That was Alistair; always a little unsure, afraid of putting his foot into something unpleasant, but still charging ahead with a charming carelessness.

"Yes," she replied, letting her head rest back against his shoulder for a second. She had a feeling this was going to be a long day; she was already exhausted, and they hadn't started traveling yet.

She felt tension through his shoulder and turned her head a little to look at his face. He was looking straight ahead, his expression carefully controlled. "Alistair?" she asked.

He jumped a little, jolting her upright. "Yes?" he asked.

"Are you all right?"

He laughed shakily. "Am I all right? You're the one with a burned paw; how's the pain?"

"Manageable," Keladry said, wondering at his dodge. "I think I can try the water again. I know what to expect this time."

"All right, but carefully," Alistair said, shifting to support her.

Keladry looked at him for a moment, considering a possibility she hadn't thought of before now, at least not with any seriousness. But she dismissed it for now; she needed to deal with her hand, and she thought she wanted some time to ponder the revelation she'd just had. "Thanks," she said, shifting to lower her hand into the stream again.

This time, she was ready for the pain and managed to push it to another part of her mind. She set her teeth into her lower lip and bit hard, drawing the pain somewhere else so she could soak her hand. After a moment, the pain diminished as the skin took in the cool from the water, and she sighed in relief, glancing at the horizon. "Wynne should be up soon," she commented. They'd discovered that the enchantress was a disgustingly cheerful morning person, something that never failed to annoy Keladry.

"You do realize you're bleeding, right?" Alistair asked.

For a panicked moment, she was sure he meant her monthly cycle, and wondered how he'd figured that out. Then she tasted blood in her mouth and frowned a little. "Oh, that," she said.

"'Oh, that'?" Alistair mimicked her almost perfectly as he rolled his eyes at her. "You don't bleed from the lips often; I'd've noticed."

"Sure about that?" Keladry teased lightly.

"Pretty sure, I think," Alistair said. "Here, let me…" He fumbled a handkerchief out of his belt pouch and dipped it in the water, then gently wiped her face. She twitched a little at how cold it was, but held still otherwise.

"There you go," Alistair said, smiling at her.

"Thanks," Keladry said, smiling back. She started to say something else, but found that she couldn't look away from his eyes. There was a mixture of uncertainty and fear and hope and some emotion she couldn't quite understand in his brown eyes that drew her in almost hypnotically. She found herself drawn a little closer to him like a moth was drawn to a flame.

Alistair blinked and drew back a little, a bashful blush coloring his cheeks. "Wynne should be awake now," he said. "You should get that hand looked at."

Keladry sighed, but accepted the dodge. She felt a little disappointed, feeling that something had been about to happen, but maybe whatever it was had come before they were ready for it. "Good idea," she said. "Maker knows I'm ready to be rid of this pain!"

They both laughed, and Alistair helped her to her feet.

Back at camp, Wynne was awake, and fussed over Keladry's hand as if it were a dying bird. With anyone else, that kind of behavior would have annoyed Keladry beyond all words, but with Wynne, she always got the sense that she really did care and didn't have any other way to express her feelings. Alistair hovered a little ways away until Keladry's hand was as good as new and she'd stopped coughing, then began taking down his tent. Wynne waited until he was some distance away before murmuring, "He seems rather struck by you, Keladry."

Keladry massaged the healed skin gingerly, relieved by the lack of pain, and said, "I'm his fighting comrade; having my strong hand down would affect all of us."

Wynne raised an eyebrow at the younger woman, but only said, "As you say."

Before Wynne could go back to her tent, Keladry stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "I hate to impose further…" she began.

Wynne turned her full attention on the young Grey Warden. "Is there something else?" she asked kindly.

Keladry blushed a little and looked over her shoulder at the waking camp. Sten was within earshot, and Alistair kept drifting back toward the women. "Um…it's a little…personal," she said.

The enchantress took the hint and followed Keladry a little ways from the camp, Jump bounding at their heels happily. "He seems excited to be on the road again," Wynne commented.

"He likes meeting new people, and getting to kill new things," Keladry said with a wry smile. She took a deep breath and explained her problem to Wynne. Oddly, she found it hard to talk about such a personal problem, even with another woman, even after years around guardsmen. Or maybe that was the problem; she was used to raunchy jokes, but the moment a "personal female problem" came up, all the men scattered to the four winds. Sergeant Caitlin, Keladry's primary trainer, found evil delight in bringing up things like menstrual cycles and pregnancy, just to watch the men blush and run.

Wynne listened carefully, nodding a little occasionally. "Well, we can fix the pain problem right now," she said, resting a hand on Keladry's abdomen. Keladry felt a tingling sensation, and all her pain left in a mind-numbing rush of relief. "As for the future…" the enchantress continued, frowning thoughtfully. "I must examine the problem. I think I can make you a potion to take during your cycle to remove the pain."

"Thank you," Keladry said from the very bottom of her heart.

"It's rather funny, isn't it?" Wynne mused. "We hear all the legends of the Grey Wardens, but never about something as supposedly mundane as how the magical process, whatever it is, affects the body."

Keladry kept her peace about that. She knew some of how the Joining would affect her body; Alistair had given her the full rundown, from appetite changes to early death, a couple weeks ago. "I would suspect many of the women who experienced this particular change just didn't talk about it," she said instead. "I'll put it in my journal, so the Grey Wardens of the future aren't as uninformed as I was."

Wynne smiled. "Good," she said simply.

When the women got back to camp, most of the tents were down already and Alistair was working on Keladry's. He looked up as she joined him in the teardown. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"It is now," Keladry replied, smiling at him. For just a second, she saw a trace of the unidentifiable emotion in his eyes again, and she almost recognized it. It looked familiar, anyway, something she used to see often as a child but couldn't identify it now. Rather frustrating, all things considered. She shrugged a little and wrapped a rope into a coil. She'd figure it out later, if it was important. For now, there was the job in front of them.


	3. Just One More Pleasant Memory

**Just One More Pleasant Memory**

Alistair woke from a nightmare, gasping and sweating and automatically choking back a scream. Sometimes there were little perks to being a Grey Warden; at least he knew how to wake from a nightmare involving Morrigan's amber eyes and the sense of strange magic crawling over his skin _without_ waking the whole of Redcliffe. He rolled over, still shaking a little, and reached for Keladry. Who wasn't there.

He sat up in bed, the covers slipping down as he looked around. The room he and Keladry had claimed for their one night in Redcliffe was dark, but it was the pre-morning darkness that suggested the sun was going to be up soon. He was starting to panic a little when he saw the outline of someone sitting on the balcony outside their room, and he relaxed again. He slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of trousers before going to the balcony.

Keladry, the de facto leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden and only living Cousland remaining, sat alone on a bench, looking east. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and both hands were cupped around a large mug of a hot liquid of some kind. Alistair suspected tea, the strong stuff she liked to drink to wake herself up. She looked up and smiled wanly when she saw Alistair. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked, scooting over a little.

He took the tacit invitation and sat beside her, slipping an arm around her waist. "I had a nightmare," he sighed. "What about you?" He smelled the tea and frowned a little. She always drank a mug of tea in the morning; she said it was a ritual her parents had established in the Cousland household when she was a child. But this was the tea she used when she was tense or worried about something and needed to calm down, not her usual pick-me-up.

Keladry frowned into her mug and didn't answer for a moment. Alistair took the opportunity to scoot closer. The early morning air was chilly, and she was fully dressed in a travel-worn soft blue tunic and trousers that were black once but now were a shade of grey from all the washings. She slipped her bare feet under his leg, making him yelp a little at how cold they were. Keladry smiled slightly.

"'Drea?" Alistair asked.

"I came out to watch the sun rise," Keladry said at last.

Alistair looked at her with a little frown. It wasn't unheard of for her to wake early for training, especially when they were in various cities with fighters she hadn't trained with before, but this was new. "Oh?" he asked.

Keladry sipped her tea and shifted the mug in her hands. "Yes," she said. "See… this is the last peaceful night we'll get before we get to Denerim. And…when we get there…" Her voice faltered, and she fell silent again.

He waited. In the last year since first meeting her, Alistair had learned a lot of things from Keladry. Probably one of the better skills was the ability to listen, something Keladry did very, very well. She had a way of listening that encouraged people to spill their life stories. Alistair didn't have the patience to manage that trick with everyone else, but Keladry…she was his betrothed, the only woman he had ever loved. So he listened and waited for her to collect her thoughts.

"I've never had so much time to ponder a suicidal fight," Keladry said at last. "When Arl Howe attacked Highever, I woke up and jumped right into the fight. I didn't have time to think about everything until it was all over. Same with everything throughout the Blight, really; I was thrown into situations and did what I needed to, and didn't have time to consider what I was doing until it was all over. But now…" She rubbed her hand absently over her leg. "We could die in a matter of days," she said softly.

"There's always been that risk," Alistair pointed out. "Like Duncan told me. Any of us could die any time."

"Yes, I know," Keladry said crossly. "Death has always been a part of this."

Alistair gently stroked her hair, feeling her trembling against him. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, and he felt her exhale shakily.

"We go to Denerim today," she said. "We won't beat the darkspawn there; we can't. It's too far. So when we get there, the city will be filled with the very creatures we are tasked to kill. Hundreds of them…_thousands_ of them. The Dead Trenches, emptied out into the heart of Ferelden." She lifted her head to look at him. "And we have to get through all of them to get to the Archdemon. Three Grey Wardens, with our allies, against the worst the Deep Roads can throw at us." Her eyes burned with a frightening fire. "We'll fight. We always do, whatever the odds. But we might die without killing the Archdemon."

"'Drea…" Alistair said, gently cupping her cheek in his hand.

Keladry shook her head a little. "That's why I couldn't sleep," she said, gently gripping his wrist. "Death…well, we stare that in the face every day. Failing our ultimate mission, though…that scares me worse than death ever could."

There was nothing he could say to that. How could he comfort her fears when he feared the same thing? Dying in failure was every true warrior's worst nightmare.

"So before we face our final battle," Keladry said after a moment of silence, "I wanted to watch the sun rise. If I die in Denerim, trying to kill the Archdemon, I want a good memory, a peaceful memory, to take into the Fade with me."

Alistair looked into her eyes and smiled. "Then let's watch the sun rise together," he said. "Just in case."

Keladry relaxed and smiled. "Good plan," she said, turning and snuggling against him. She offered him her mug and he sipped, enjoying the minty undertone.

A few minutes later, the sky began warming. The two Grey Wardens watched the sun rise in silence, sharing Keladry's tea and relishing the moment of peace.

When the sun cleared the edge of the horizon, Keladry sighed and sat up. "We should get ready," she said. "The forces will be mustering soon." She started to get up, but Alistair caught her hand in his, stopping her.

"I have a better idea," he said, looking into her hazel eyes with a mischievous little smile. "This is the last chance for a real bed we'll have for a long while, maybe forever. Maybe we should make use of it…?"

Keladry stared at her beloved for a moment before chuckling softly. "You have some of the best ideas, Star." She leaned over and kissed him, cutting off whatever he was going to say in return and happily distracting him from any other thought processes for quite a while.

After all, as she'd said, there was a high chance of death on the horizon. Why not use the time they had to make a good memory?


End file.
